


How I love you, how I love you

by NeverAndAlways



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Queenie Goldstein/Jacob Kowalski, Mpreg, Newt Scamander is a Dork, Nifflers, Not Beta Read, Parent Newt Scamander, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAndAlways/pseuds/NeverAndAlways
Summary: (That canolli pound cake is a real thing, by the way, and it is delicious: http://www.mastercook.com/app/recipe/WebRecipeDetails?recipeId=5598934)-If you like the story, please leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you!





	1. Chapter 1

" _I found a roundabout way to heaven, heaven, I found a roundabout way back home..._ "

It's always a good sign when Jacob sings in the kitchen. Means he's working on something new. Of course, he can't carry a tune all that well, but that doesn't bother him. And it certainly doesn't bother Queenie. As he wanders by - still singing - with a handful of oranges, she glances up from her embroidery and smiles. He catches her eye and smiles back.

Across the room, Tina sighs inwardly. _Newlyweds_.

Jacob pulls a zester out of a drawer and goes to work on the first orange, grating the rind into a bowl. The tangy smell of it fills the apartment. Queenie returns to her embroidery.

Double overcasting stitch around the border, then a French knot stitch...she's starting to regret choosing this pattern. It's beautiful, but it's tying her brain in knots. She snips off the end of her thread and reaches for a new spool. It's teetering on the edge of its basket; her fingers hardly brush it before it flings itself onto the floor and rolls under the couch.

"Oh no you don't, come back here-" she kneels beside the couch and pulls out her wand. " _Accio_ thread."

Queenie stands up, rescued thread in hand, and is just gathering the rest of her things when she suddenly stops. A look of delight blooms on her face. He's here!

"Jacob, honey?" she calls to the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"When you have a moment, could you get the door for him?"

"Who?"

No sooner has the word left his mouth than there's a knock on the door. A familiar voice filters through.

"Anyone home?"

Jacob opens the door, still holding the orange in one hand - and who should be on the other side but Newt Scamander himself. Jacob grins.

"Newt! You made it!"

"Indeed."

"Here, come in, come in-"

Jacobs ushers his friend into the apartment, where Queenie is the first to greet him. She ambushes him with a hug and a "hiya, Mister Scamander" before he's even put his things down.

"Hello, Queenie. Tina. Good to see you both." precise as always. Tina gets a hug as well, once she extracts herself from her typewriter. Then Newt looks around the apartment. It looks similar ro the one that Tina and Queenie shared, but a little more spacious. He sniffs. "Something smells wonderful, what is it?"

Jacob smiles proudly. "I'm tryin' a new recipe."

"Oh?"

"Canolli pound cake. Orange zest, ricotta cheese, and diced chocolate."

Newt raises his eyebrows. "Sounds delicious."

"Mm-hmm." Jacob saunters back to the kitchen.

Queenie hovers a bit. "I was just about to make tea, would anyone like a cup?"

"I'll have some, thanks." says Newt as he takes off his coat. The fireplace keeps the apartment warm, but outside it's a chilly -6°.

Queenie follows her husband to the kitchen. Moments later, a clinking of cups and saucers is heard. Tina settles herself back at her typewriter. Newt takes an armchair. After spending so much time on a ship, it's good to be on solid ground again.

"How was your trip?" asks Tina.

Newt sighs. "Very long. A couple of creatures got out; I had to chase them down."

"Please tell me you got them all back."

"Of course." Newt's suitcase is perched on the arm of the chair. He gives it a pat. Then he lifts his shirt collar up just a little to reveal Pickett, curled up close to his neck. Pickett chirps a greeting.

"You're crazy." Tina says fondly.

"Mm." Newt fusses with a scuffed spot on the suitcase.

Queenie returns with two cups of tea, one of which she gives to Newt. He thanks her and warms his hands on it. She waves to Pickett.

"Oh, that reminds me." says Newt suddenly. "There's someone in particular who wanted to say hello-" he puts his tea down and unlatches his suitcase, and before you can say "wait", a furry black something clambers out.

It's a niffler. Its spiny crest bristles with excitement as it looks around the room. Queenie smiles at the sight of it, but Tina looks less than enthused.

"Newt..." her tone is warning.

"Don't worry, he won't get far. Look:" he raises his hand. Looped around it is a length of nearly-transparent rope, which leads to and wraps around the niffler in a harness. "It's charmed. It stretches, but he can't leave the room. Should've thought of it years ago..." the niffler snuffles industriously at a chair leg. "Anyway, how's your work with the Ministry?" he turns to Tina. His trains of thought are all express lines.

Queenie looks on and sips her tea as Tina and Newt talk. It's good to have him back. After a while, Jacob wanders in for a break; they sit side-by-side and let the endless details of Ministry work flow around them. Even Queenie doesn't understand all of it. She's too busy watching Newt. There's something odd about the way he's carrying himself, as though there's something heavy on him, or something that doesn't fit quite right. And there's a feeling coming off of him in waves. She can't tell what it is. He's asked her not to read him, but it's awfully tempting...

Suddenly, she's startled out of her thoughts. Something's climbing her leg! She looks down, ready to confront it - oh. It's the niffler. It hauls itself up onto her knee and raises its crest.

"Hey there, little guy." Queenie strokes its fur. What an interesting little thing; soft in one direction, coarse and bristly in the other. And it seems to enjoy the attention, until it catches sight of her earrings. It reaches out a paw. "Sorry honey, those are mine." she says gently.

Newt glances over and snaps his fingers once in warning. "Ah-ah! Leave it." the niffler puts its paw down. "Good boy. Queenie, I can come and get him if he's bothering you."

"Not at all. Actually-" she picks up the niffler, stands up, and sets him on her chair. "I'll be right back." then she bustles out of the room. When she returns a moment later, she's holding a long, chunky necklace with a large diamond at its center. She offers it to the niffler, whose beady eyes light up at the sight of it.

"Honey, what are you-?" Jacob starts to protest. She waves a dismissive hand.

"It's alright, I never wear it. It's all glass, anyway." she smiles and sits down as the niffler scuttles away with his prize. Newt laughs - and then it hits her like a tidal wave. She knows exactly what the feeling is that's been pouring off of him. Her eyes widen. "Newt, are you really?"

Newt frowns. "Queenie, I know you mean well, but I've asked you not to read my mind."

"I'm not, honest! I didn't even have to, I can feel it. But are you actually...?"

His expression changes to resignation, and maybe a little amusement. He turns his gaze to his knees and says quietly, "Yes."

Queenie grins. "That's wonderful! Oh Newt, I'm so happy for you!"

"What on earth are you two talking about?" Tina chimes in.

"Yeah, what's the good news?" adds Jacob.

Queenie looks from her sister to her husband, and back to Newt. She's still grinning. "Do you wanna tell them, or can I do it?"

"No, I'll tell them." Newt sighs and looks up from his knees. "...I'm pregnant."

Tina's eyes widen. Jacob laughs in surprise.

"No kidding! Newt, that's great!"

Tina cracks a smile as well. "Congratulations." Newt smiles shyly and nods to them both.

"But you're not even-" for lack of a better word, Jacob awkwardly mimes the shape of a belly over his own. "When did you find out?"

"Well, actually..how do I say this..." Newt runs a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered. He pulls out his wand. He looks at it. He looks at them. Then he points it to his midsection. " _Finite incantatem_."

Magic runs off of him like water. The spell unravels layer by layer until - 

"...Oh." says Jacob. He's become rather matter-of-fact about most magic.

"How many concealment charms were you using?" Tina asks.

"Two. Plus a few others. I'm, ah...I'll be seven months this week." he puts a hand on his belly.

"But why hide it in the first place?" asks Queenie, stroking the niffler's fur. It's sitting on her knee again, happily playing with its necklace.

"England's not as...accepting when it comes to carriers." Tina supplies. "The laws here aren't as restrictive as they are overseas."

Newt laughs nervously. "I may have had an ulterior motive for coming to visit. I've already started looking at flats to rent in the neighborhood-"

"I don't think so."

All eyes turn to Queenie.

"What do you mean?" asks Newt.

"You're our friend. And we invited you here in the first place, didn't we? You stay here as long as you need, honey."

Pickett chirrups from Newt's shoulder. Newt nods as if in agreement. "You're very kind, Queenie, but I wouldn't want to impose."

"You aren't imposing, I offered. We can just clear out the spare bedroom." she looks over at Jacob. "What do you think, honey?"

Jacob quirks his lopsided smile. "Well, I know I can't talk you out of it." then, to Newt: "Welcome to the family, Mister Scamander."

 

•••¤¤¤••• 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (That canolli pound cake is a real thing, by the way, and it is delicious: http://www.mastercook.com/app/recipe/WebRecipeDetails?recipeId=5598934)
> 
> -
> 
> If you like the story, please leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So the end-of-chapter notes are being weird, and I can't figure out how to fix them. Just ignore the thing about the pound cake...)

The next months are as uneventful as life with Newt Scamander can be.

Waking up to a purring nundu draped over one's feet, for example, stops being a surprise after a few weeks. Or finding a puffskein asleep in a cupboard. It becomes sort of par for the course.

Newt spends a lot of time down in his suitcase with his creatures (getting down the ladder becomes a challenge around month eight - not that that stops him. Nothing a charm or two can't fix, he says). It's where he feels most comfortable; can't begrudge him that. Jacob and Queenie offer their help where they can, and Tina stops by when she has a day off.

Today, Newt is in the aviary. Birds of every description chatter and dart through the trees, bursts of color among the greenery. Tina wanders through with no clear idea of where she's going. Jacob directed her down here. Said Newt's been here almost all day.

"Newt?" she calls for the umpteenth time.

"Yes?" the voice comes from behind her. She spins around; there's Newt, smudged with dirt and cheerful as ever. And looking very pregnant. "Tina!" he says brightly. "What are you doing down here?"

"Looking for you. I thought I'd find you resting, but I guess I ought to know better."

"No, you're right, I probably should be." Newt brushes his hair out of his eyes. "I just have so much energy right now, I don't want to waste it."

"Can I give you a hand, at least?"

"Sure. Come on."

Newt leads Tina off the path and onto a narrow trail lined with shrubs. He's wearing a falconer's glove, she notices.

"What are you doing, anyway?" she tries to sound casual.

"Nesting, I'm afraid."

"Can't the animals build their own nests?"

Newt laughs lightly. "Not them, me."

"...I don't understand."

They emerge into a clearing. "It's not literally nesting, more like...just restlessness. Happens during the last weeks of pregnancy. Sudden increase in energy, an instinctive need to be active and organize, clean, et cetera to get things ready for the baby. I seem to be in the thick of it." Newt gives an almost apologetic smile.

"Someone's been doing their research." Tina smirks.

"Always." Newt takes a small whistle from his pocket, holds it to his lips, and blows three short bursts in quick succession. He holds out his gloved hand. A minute passes. He repeats the signal, and there's a muted rustling in the trees overhead. He catches Tina's eye and juts his chin upward; she follows his gaze and there, watching them with shrewd eyes, is a large green-and-black vulture. It cocks its head. Newt puts the whistle back in his pocket and clicks his tongue at the bird instead. "Good girl. Come on down, it's alright." without taking his eyes off the bird, he reaches into a pouch at his waist and pulls out a scrap of meat, which he transfers to the glove. "Come on." the bird eyes him warily, as though weighing its options. Then, abruptly, it spreads its wings and coasts down to land neatly on the glove. Newt smiles. "There you are. What a good girl." he strokes its chest while it eats, then turns to Tina. "This is Beatrice. She's an augurey; found her as a chick, she's almost completely imprinted on humans."

Tina looks the bird up and down. It's not the prettiest creature. "Hello, Beatrice." she says politely.

"Here-" with a mischevious glint in his eye, Newt takes another scrap of meat out of the pouch and gives it to Tina. Then he nods to Beatrice. "Go on. It's alright, she's quite gentle."

Every instinct Tina has, tells her this is a very bad idea. And yet she finds herself holding out her hand. Beatrice stretches out her long, feathered neck and contemplates the offered treat. She cocks her head. Then, with a quick snip of her beak, she gulps it down. Tina startles.

Newt laughs. "Well done!" he raises his gloved hand and clicks his tongue. "Alright, Bea, that's enough. Off you go." the bird lifts off and flaps away into the understory, scattering a group of jobberknolls. They watch her go. Then Newt takes off the glove and looks at Tina. "There's one more thing to do, if you're up to it."

"Lead the way."

The pair are quiet now as they walk through the jungle. The birds do all the talking.

At another, smaller clearing, they find a mist net strung between two trees. A couple dozen small, brightly-colored birds are caught in the net; not struggling, but not too pleased either. Newt, with his wand held between his teeth, walks up to one and begins to gently untangle it. Tina watches from a few yards away. Once the bird is free, he gently cups it in one hand and holds the wand in the other. This he points at the bird.

" _Silencio_."

A flash of light. Newt opens his hand. The disgruntled bird rights itself, fluffs its feathers once, and zips away. Newt reaches for another bird.

"If you have your wand with you, this would go much faster with two people."

Tina approaches the net. After that, she's not sure what to do, but Newt directs her while he works.

"Hold them by their legs so they don't thrash, and carefully unwind the net wherever it's tangled...good, just like that..."

The bird - a fwooper, according to Newt - chirps loudly in protest as she untangles it. It's a pretty sound. Beautiful, even. She comments on it.

"It is pretty," Newt agrees, "it'll also drive you mad." he says it almost conversationally. Tina does a double-take.

"...Oh."

"Mm-hmm."

They work in relative silence until the last bird is silenced and set free. Then Newt's energy seems to run out. They head back to the space by the toolshed, take out some sandwiches he's hidden there, and sit down to rest. The nundu pads over and settles at Tina's feet. Graphorns bellow in the distance.

"Newt?"

"Mm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything." Newt puts down his sandwich and looks at Tina. He's always so earnest and enthusiastic. Must be tiring.

"Who...who's the father?"

A flicker of something moves across Newt's face, too quick to identify. He coasts his hands over his belly. "Ah. I figured you would ask at some point..."

"If it bothers you-"

"No, no, it's alright. It's, ah..." he huffs out a faint laugh. "It's Percival."

"Percival...you mean Director Graves?"

"That's him."

"But he-"

"The _real_ Percival Graves." Newt's tone is sharp for a moment. He sighs. "We worked together at the Ministry for three or four years, and we were together for a year or two before the whole mess with the obscurial. He went undercover, allegedly to study it, and then he just...disappeared." he shrugs. "I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later."

"...Oh. Newt, I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. You couldn't have known."

The nundu rolls over in its sleep. Tina takes the opportunity to shuffle it off her feet.

"But that means you were pregnant during the mission?"

"It does." he gives a small smile. "I...came very close to losing it when Grindlewald attacked me. It's a small miracle that either of us survived."

"Well, I'm glad you did."

Another small laugh. "So am I."

There's an awkward pause while Tina fumbles for something to fill the silence. "You must be so excited."

"I am," Newt thinks a moment. "Well, mostly terrified. And very tired. But there's excitement in there somewhere."

They both laugh, then lapse into silence. The nundu wakes up only long enough to stretch, turn around, and lie back down. Tina checks her wristwatch.

"...I should go. I'm meeting with Picquery this evening." she gets up and brushes some bits of hay off her skirt.

"Alright. Here, I'll see you out-" Newt starts to heave himself to his feet, which requires no small amount of effort these days.

"No, you stay put. You should be resting anyway." Tina teases. "I'll see you later, Newt."

"See you later."

Tina walks into the supply shed. Newt hears the floorboards creak. Then she reappears.

"You, uh..." she hesitates, "you know we'll do whatever we can to help you with this."

Newt smiles a little shyly, drops his gaze to the floor. One hand still rests on his belly, as though making sure it's still there. "I know," he says quietly, "I appreciate it. I really do."

Tina smiles and disappears back into the shed. The floorboards creak. Then the ladder. Then she's gone, and he's alone with his thoughts and his creatures.

 

•••¤¤¤•••


	3. Chapter 3

Well, here we are. 41 weeks. The baby's happy where it is; Newt, not so much. All that nesting energy has run out, so now he's tired _and_ bored. And caring for his creatures is getting harder and harder. He can barely get down the ladder, he can barely lift the bags of feed, he can't get into the smaller enclosures at all. Queenie and Jacob are getting pretty good at helping him out. He feels bizarrely guilty for that, really, even though they say they don't mind.

So he's started helping out in the bakery on slow days. Just like Jacob and Queenie are getting good at finding diricawls and feeding occamys, he's learning how to knead bread dough and make croissants. And having fun, too. It takes his mind off things.

"...Now fold it over just like that - yeah, leave some space at the bottom - then get the knife and make a few cuts in it..."

"Like that?"

"Yeah, that's good! See, then you kinda bend it, and that makes the toes."

"Ah, hence the name 'bear claw'."

"Exactly." Jacob adds the finished pastry to a baking sheet with the others, then turns back to his friend. "So the next step is to paint 'em with egg wash, and -" he hesitates. Newt is lowering himself onto a stepstool, rubbing small circles into his belly. His eyes are shut; his mouth is a thin line. "You okay, buddy?"

"I think so," says Newt, but he doesn't sound sure. "You go ahead and get started, I'll be there."

"Whatever you say." Jacob doesn't sound sure either. He mixes the egg wash, hunts down a pastry brush from its drawer, and starts to paint the bearclaws one by one. Every now and then he glances back at Newt.

The shop bell rings. Jacob looks over his shoulder and calls, "Be right with you, Mrs. Bartlett!" then he turns back to Newt and holds out the pastry brush. "You okay to keep goin' on these?"

"Sure." Newt gets to his feet. These days, he feels like he's always on the verge of falling over. He takes the brush from Jacob and goes to work. His friend bustles out to the front of the shop.

When he returns less than five minutes later, both sheets of bearclaws are finished. Newt insists he didn't use magic. Jacob's learned not to believe him on that count. But Newt's not about to reveal his secret either, so back to work they go.

-

The day wears on. The bearclaws, magic or not, are a great success. They also make hot cross buns and a small batch of scones. Newt takes more and more frequent breaks (insisting each time that he's okay), until Jacob is doing most of the work.

Around mid-afternoon, he walks into the storeroom where Newt is resting. It's cool and dim, April sunlight filtering through the small windows.

"Newt?" he calls. There's no answer. Where the hell could the guy have gone? He would have heard him leave the shop, and the storeroom's a dead end..."Hey, Newt?" he calls again. This time, there's a muffled sound from the back of the room. He follows it.

Newt is leaned up against a supply shelf, with his forearms pillowed on bags of flour and his forehead on the edge of the shelf. He exhales slowly. 

"Hello, Jacob."

"Hey, uh...you okay?"

"Yes and no," Newt stands up straighter. "I believe I'm having contractions." there's a stunned silence. "Well, more accurately, the contractions I've been trying to ignore are making themselves known..."

Jacob gapes. "Wait, you mean you've been-? All morning?" he laughs nervously. "Newt, you gotta tell me these things, buddy."

"I didn't want to worry you unneccesarily. We had work to do."

"Yeah, work that _I_ can finish. _You_ need to get upstairs and rest." Jacob turns to leave, then turns back. "I'm gonna go put up the 'closed' sign. Don't go anywhere."

-

"Queenie?"

Jacob ascends the narrow staircase from the bakery, just a few steps behind Newt. They hear the light sound of Queenie's high heels, before Queenie herself appears at the top of the stairs.

"What's wrong?" she looks back and forth between Jacob and Newt.

Newt looks sheepish. "I seem to be having contractions."

"Hey, that's great!" Queenie smiles, "Must be a relief. You finally get to meet the baby." she helps him up the last few steps.

"Yes, except that I have several hours of labor to get through before then." Newt makes his way across the room, supporting himself on the furniture as he goes. Queenie trails behind.

"Do you need anything, honey? Anything we can do?"

He reaches the bedroom door and pauses there. His whole body reads defensive, nervous, tense.

"I just want to be with my creatures."

-

Newt paces.

He walks through the aviary with Beatrice on his shoulder. He sits by the pond and watches the plimpys nibble on weeds. The occamy chicks (who have grown so much you can hardly call them chicks anymore) curl up on his shoulders and knees and what's left of his lap. The nundu purrs up a storm and almost knocks him over.

And last of all, he goes to see Dougal.

The demiguise's nest hangs in the midst of a bamboo forest. Newt approaches it on unsteady legs. The contractions are closing in and his body is taking control, little by little.

"Dougal?" Newt clicks his tongue. "Anybody home?" the nest sways for a moment; a furry head with huge golden eyes peeks out. Newt smiles at the sight of it. "There you are." Dougal cocks his head and furrows his brow as Newt lowers himself to the ground. "No, nothing's wrong. Just stopping by for a visit." you have to get up pretty early to fool Dougal, he knows that. But it's worth a try.

The demiguise extends his long arms and pulls himself out of the nest. Then he drops to the ground and knuckles his way over to Newt. Even fully visible, parts of him are almost transparent in this light. He stops and studies Newt's face as though looking for an answer there.

"Here, I brought you something-" Newt reaches into his pocket. "It's from Queenie." he produces a brooch, gold with deep-blue rhinestones. "She thought you might like it."

Dougal takes the brooch from his hand with long, dexterous fingers, admires it for a moment, then sets it aside. Clearly there are more important things to attend to. He takes a step closer and places his hands on Newt's belly, which is tighter and more round than it was even this morning. He looks up at Newt, eyes wide.

"Yes, you're right," says Newt, "very soon."

Now Dougal lays an ear to his belly. He moves his hands this way, then that way, then back again. When he lifts his head, Newt swears there's a smile on his face. "No, don't tell me. I want to find out for...oh. Oh no-" Newt leans back on his hands. There's a contraction coming; the demiguise can sense it too. Dougal keeps his hands on Newt's belly and watches with the air of a tiny scientist as Newt pants his way through the pain.

Suddenly the moment, whatever it was, is broken by a voice.

"Mister Scamander?"

Dougal startles. In an instant he's invisible, and he darts back to his nest. Newt, on the other hand, doesn't know anything's happened until the contraction passes. He looks around.

"Hello?"

"Oh, there you are-" a waft of Queenie's perfume comes up behind him, followed by Queenie. "How're you doin', honey?"

"Still plodding along." Newt sighs. She's in her pajamas, he notices. "What time is it?"

"11:15. Jacob had to go to bed 'cause he's getting up early, but I'm gonna stay up."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Yes I do." her voice is gentle, but there's no room for argument. She crouches beside him. "Is there anything you need? Tea, something to eat?"

"A time-turner to make this go faster?" Newt cracks a wry smile, which Queenie returns.

"Sorry, fresh out." Queenie looks him up and down. "...Newt, are you sure you want to do this here?"

"I'm sure. I've done my research, I'll have my wand close by."

"It just doesn't seem very safe, is all."

Newt thinks for a moment.

"Come with me."

Newts gets to his feet - with some assistance - and the pair walk back to the toolshed. There's a new area. Newt directs Queenie toward it.

When she opens the door-flap, she finds not an animal enclosure, but a room. A bedroom, albeit a tiny one. It's basic, almost to the point of being spartan - a bed, a sink, a nightstand, and a chair are the only furniture, with a single lamp casting a buttery glow over all of it. But it's cozy. And there's a washtub at the foot of the bed, and towels and sheets neatly folded and set aside. Queenie casts Newt a sidelong look.

"So _that's_ what you've been doing down here."

"I feel safest here," Newt explains with a shrug, "and besides, the process is much the same for humans as it is for animals." he leans heavily on a wall. Aside from the door, the room is as solid as any real one. "I've cleaned it to within an inch of its life, as well..." there's a distracted tone to his voice, as though he's losing interest.

Queenie looks around, admiring. "How long did all this take?"

There's no answer.

"Mister Scamander?"

She turns around. Newt's eyes are closed and his head is bowed, and he's bracing himself on the wall. Or trying to. She crosses the room to his side.

"Take it easy, it's alright." Queenie tries to support him while he loses his fight with gravity and slides down the wall. He ends up sitting with his legs tented and Queenie holding onto his hands. She watches him, unsure of what to say, until his breathing evens out.

Newt opens his eyes. "That was a very bad one." he pants. He sounds almost matter-of-fact about it.

Queenie brushes some runaway hair off his forehead. It's already damp with sweat. "I wish you'd let one of us stay down here with you."

Newt doesn't meet her gaze.

"...Perhaps."

 

•••¤¤¤•••


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: semi-graphic description of birth in this chapter!

Two o'clock in the morning. Newt labors on. He's still alone in his little room; he refused Queenie's offers to stay with him. Birth isn't pretty, he said. It's messy and it's loud and it's difficult, and you don't need to see me like that.

Which, of course, didn't stop Queenie from sneaking down anyway. She's set herself up outside the door, just out of sight, with a newspaper and her embroidery and the niffler (who invited himself). It didn't seem right for Newt to have to do this alone. Besides, she can sense what's happening even from upstairs. It doesn't really matter whether she's up there or down here. At least Newt will have some company this way.

-

"Merlin's _knees_ -!"

Newt leans into a contraction. Almost there. Hands and knees is the only position that really helps with the pain now. His water broke a contraction or two ago, maybe longer than that. It's hard to tell. Panic is sitting in a lump in the pit of his stomach; it's just a reaction to the stress, he knows that, but he almost wants to let it take over because at least fear is predictable.

 _It's alright, Newt, just relax. Let it happen. Let it happen. Your body knows what it's doing_.

The contraction comes to a peak. The intensity of it makes him gasp, and he swears he can feel his hips being forced apart as the baby moves down. When it subsides, Newt sits back on his haunches to rest his arms. His hands go to his belly, hard under his nightshirt, and rub over the tight muscles as though he can smooth the tension away. A little knee jabs back at his hand.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmurs, for all the good it'll do, "you can come on out now, I know you're ready."

That's the problem, though. The baby might be ready, but he isn't. His body isn't ready to let go yet. He sighs and eases back down onto all fours. It had better be soon.

-

Queenie startles awake. Her embroidery's slithered off her lap to the floor. She leans down to collect it, dislodging the niffler in the process. He squeaks.

Her pocketwatch - which the niffler was chewing on, the little thief - reads half-past four. _And Newt's still working_ , she thinks, _poor thing_. She looks at her embroidery for a moment, then sets it aside and reaches for the newspaper. It's a wizarding paper, the American equivalent of the Daily Prophet. As she leafs through the pages - silenced so they won't crinkle - moving photographs stare back at her. No-maj newspapers must be awfully boring. She flips past articles about broomstick prices, ads for cauldrons, this and that...then she has to do a double-take. Was that-? She turns the page back to find a familiar face looking out at her. Slicked-back hair, shrewd, dark eyes, stubble, sharp suit, talking to a gaggle of reporters. It's an old photo, but instantly recognizable. Her gaze moves to the headline.

** MACUSA SECURITY DIRECTOR FOUND ALIVE**

**Auror Percival Graves was found in Germany earlier this week, following a lengthy investigation into his disappearence. Graves was reported missing last September, after it was discovered that Gellert Grindelwald had adopted his appearance to infiltrate MACUSA headquarters. Although he was suffering from exposure and malnutrition at the time of the rescue, mediwizards report his condition as "stable" and expect him to make a full recovery.**

Queenie has to read through the article twice before it hits her. Graves is alive. She almost calls out for Newt, she's so excited. He'll be so happy. But now is not the time. She turns the page, away from Graves' piercing look, and sends up a quiet _thanks_ to whoever might be listening up there. Sometimes things do work out for the best.

-

Six o'clock in the morning. He's fighting with his body now. It's doing everything it can to get this baby out, but he can't, not yet-

Can he?

As another wave leaves him practically hanging from the headboard, it occurs to Newt that he might not care anymore, either. He's too tired to stop it.

So, before the next one hits, he eases himself off the bed to the floor. Baby has to come down and out. And it's more than ready; at the start of the contraction, when his body starts to bear down, the sudden increase in pressure has him burying his face in the blankets to muffle a yell. It's coming fast.

"Mmmh...oh gods-"

That caught him by surprise. He's been kicked in the chest by a graphorn and bitten by doxies, had broken ribs, collapsed lungs, all manner of injuries - this takes the cake. The sooner it's over, the better. He pushes again before his body can beat him to it. Feels his body stretching and stretching to make room for the baby, before the feeling recedes slightly with the end of the contraction. It burns. But he's giddy, too. Endorphins and excitement wash over the pain and keep him going.

Another slams into him. He pushes hard, feeling between his legs as the head emerges. For all that he was quiet before, he realizes he's vocalizing now. He doesn't try to stop it; couldn't if he wanted to, and it seems to help a little. Like a relief valve. He moans into the next one; the head pushes forward until he can almost cup his hand around it, and stays.

Newt huffs out a laugh of surprise. "Hello there." he breathes. His legs are shaking. This position isn't going to work. He maneuvers himself around so he's cornered between the bed and the nightstand, and lowers himself to the floor. Then he pulls his knees up and toward his chest, trying to open himself up, to make room. As soon as the next one starts, he bears down. The head emerges all in a rush; he takes a moment to breathe. Pull himself together.

_Let it happen._

He forces himself to relax. It still hurts, but now that he knows it's almost over, that doesn't seem to matter as much. He lets himself hang in the moment, both calm and overwhelmed by what's about to happen. His hand rests on the curve of the baby's head. It still burns.

The next contraction comes on hard and keeps going that way. Newt curls forward with the effort of pushing and growls through clenched teeth. The baby turns...and stops. He has to bite back discouragement. Maybe this part is just slow going.

But then five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen, and no progress is made. The panic comes creeping back. Something's wrong. Newt moves his knees further apart, wincing as his joints protest, and pushes again. Nothing.

"Come on little one, you can do it..."

He reaches both hands down and takes hold of the baby. The shoulders are stuck; he pulls gently as he pushes, the added stretch and burn forcing a yell out of him. One shoulder out, then the other. It's agonizingly slow.

And then it isn't.

As soon as the shoulders are out, the rest follows suit. Newt laughs with surprise and relief. It's over. The baby reflexively flings its arms out to the sides as he lifts it up to his chest.

"It's alright, I've got you. I've got you." Newt cradles the baby close. He might be crying; he doesn't care. "And you're a boy." he murmurs. A son.

The baby takes his first deep breath and promptly uses it to announce himself. Outside, Queenie wakes from her doze. That's the sound she's been waiting to hear. She beams, but doesn't move; doesn't want him to know she's there.

Without taking his eyes off his son Newt reaches for a towel, and wipes the baby clean and dry. He's still grinning.

"Shh. See, it's alright." he smooths down the baby's wispy hair - reddish, like his own. "Perseus." he says the name for the first time, quietly. It fits. He says it again. "Perseus James. Welcome to the world."

Newt shifts uncomfortably. He probably ought to get them both cleaned up, but he doesn't want to move. Instead he drapes a sheet over himself and a towel over the baby and settles down to count fingers and toes. The hard work is finally done.

 

•••¤¤¤••• 


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Newt?"

Newt was just circling the edge of sleep; he opens his eyes to see Jacob standing in the doorway. His friend is holding a steaming bowl of what appears to be soup, and Dougal is hanging off his shoulder.

"I made some lunch, if you're hungry."

_Lunch?_

"What time is it?"

"'Bout noon. Can we come in?"

"Yes, of course."

Newt sits up with some difficulty. Half-awake, he has a moment of bleary panic when he realizes he's alone in his body--until he catches sight of the basket on the nightstand. There's Perseus, bundled up and sleeping. He breathes a sigh of relief.

Jacob appears at Newt's side as he's fussing with the swaddling blanket. He grins. "Congratulations, buddy." Newt nods his thanks. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy. Perseus James." Newt fairly glows with parental pride.

"Perseus...you got a fancy name, little man." Jacob gently ruffles the baby's thin hair. "Queenie says he got here about six this morning?"

"That's right; how did she know?" Newt frowns. She couldn't have heard, even as a Legilimens. Could she?

Jacob shrugs. "I've learned not to ask." he hands over the bowl. "Anyway: it's beef stew, plain and simple," he explains, "good for what ails ya."

"Thank you."

Dougal lets himself down from Jacob's shoulder onto the bed, where he climbs up onto the headboard. There, hanging on with one foot and one hand, he leans over the nightstand. His free hand reaches toward the basket.

"Ah-ah!" Newt snaps once. "Look with your eyes, please. Not your hands. He's fragile." Dougal shoots him a reproachful look, but does as he's told. Newt turns back to Jacob. "Talking of Queenie, where is she?"

"Resting. She stayed up most of the night to keep an ear out for you." Jacob says with a fond smile.

"She's a good woman."

"Yeah...yeah, she is." Jacob sits down on the bed. "Y'know, Newt, you should've let one of us stay down here with you."

Newt finds himself a little defensive. Instinct, probably. Or hormones. "Why?" he barely knew what he was doing, why would they have been any different?

"Just to keep an eye out. Or call for help if something went wrong."

"Call for help, and then what? Bring a muggle--potentially a group of them--into a charmed suitcase filled with magical creatures?"

"...Good point."

"I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I had the situation--"

Suddenly Perseus interrupts them with an irritable whine, which quickly ramps up into crying. Newt looks at the baby, then at the bowl of soup still sitting in his lap. But before he can even move, Dougal steps into action. He slides down the headboard, reaches his long arms into the basket, and gently lifts Perseus out. While Newt watches, the demiguise cradles the newborn like a pro and sits down with him.

And Perseus stops crying. Save for a few cranky noises, he looks almost content.

"Huh." Jacob looks on. He seems nonplussed. He looks at Newt, who just seems mildly surprised.

Slowly and deliberately, Newt moves the bowl off his lap, then leans over to Dougal. He holds out his hands.

"May I have him?" he asks gently. Dougal frowns as though he's never heard anything so stupid. "Please? He may be hungry."

Dougal finally relents. Grudgingly, he hands Perseus over, and Newt lays the baby in his lap. He starts unbuttoning his nightshirt--then glances up as though he'd forgotten Jacob was there. He looks sheepish.

"Sorry, I--" he gestures to Perseus.

"Right, yeah. Of course. I just--I'll come back later to check on you guys."

-

Jacob makes a hasty retreat back to the apartment, where Queenie is curled up asleep on the sofa. She wakes when he enters the room.

"How is he?" she asks drowsily.

"Happy. Tired." Jacob quirks a lopsided smile. "The baby sure is a cute little fella."

Queenie returns the smile. "Sure is." she covers a yawn with one hand. Then her gaze lands on the newspaper, opened to the article about Director Graves. She'd left it open after showing it to Jacob...he follows her gaze down to it, then their eyes meet.

"When are we gonna tell him?"

Jacob watches as the photo of Graves adjusts its jacket with a flourish. He should have told Newt. He almost doesn't want to; he knows his friend will want to go running off in search of Graves, whether or not he's recovered yet. He sighs.

"Not 'till he's ready."

 

•••¤¤¤•••


	6. Chapter 6

**Percival Graves is awake.**

**At least, he's pretty sure he's awake. Could be a dream. At any rate, he doesn't feel like opening his eyes. He starts to doze again.**

**Then it occurrs to him that he's warm. And comfortable. That's new. He shifts a little; there's a soft, thick something covering him, and he's lying on what must be a mattress...this is a nice dream.**

**Something in his arm, though. Like a bee sting. Why would he dream that? He opens his eyes. Everything is blurred; he blinks a few times. His eyes gradually focus on his hand, laying at his side. There's a tube connected to it. Following the tube up and back, he finds it connected to a clear bag, hung from a metal pole. Next, he scans across his field of view. There's the end of the bed, and a shaft of sunlight, but that's it. Everything else is too blurred. Where the hell is he? Think, Graves. His brain is fuzzy...he remembers being _there_ , and a commotion and bright light and faces he didn't recognize. And nothing else.**

**That's it. Time for some answers.**

**Percival sits up. Or tries to. It's harder than it should be. His arms are so heavy, and--and he's nauseous. Oh gods, he's nauseous. A cold sweat springs up; the bed tilts crazily. He lies back down. Answers can wait.**

**"Sir? Are you awake?" asks a voice to his right. A female voice. With a British accent. (Where _is_ he?)**

**"Mm." Percival keeps his mouth tightly shut so his stomach doesn't get any bright ideas.**

**The voice, presumably a nurse, moves closer. "How are you feeling?"**

**He grunts again, a little more urgently, hoping she'll get the picture.**

**"Hm. You're looking a little green...hang on a moment--" the nurse moves around to his left. He hears her mutter a spell, and something cool flows through the line into his arm. The nausea subsides. Thank the gods.**

**"Better?"**

**He nods. But it takes a few breaths before he dares to open his mouth again.**

**"Where--" his throat is dry. "Where am I?"**

**"St. Mungo's. I'm afraid you'll be here for a while; you came to us in pretty rough shape."**

**Percival tries to sit up again. There's so much he wants to ask--how did he get here, how long has it been, where's Grindelwald--but the nurse gently pushes him back down.**

**"Don't try to get up, you're still weak." she explains.**

**He peers at her. He can see the shape of her face, somewhat, but it's a featureless blur. Unsettling, to say the least. He waves a hand in front of his face. That's a blur, too.**

**"I can't see."**

**"That will pass. Grindelwald had you** **under a stupefying potion for quite some time; it will take a while for the effects to fully wear off." the nurse adjusts his IV while she talks. "But for now, you're safe. Try to get some rest. You've got a lot of healing to do."**

**And with that, she leaves. Percival stares up at the ceiling for a while, wading through the swamp of his brain. Eventually, his eyes drift shut, and sleep finds him once again.**

\--

"Alright, come on up."

It's been two days now since Perseus was born. Newt's still tired and shaky, but he's getting sick of looking at the walls of his suitcase. So today they're having an impromptu baby shower.

Queenie extends her hand to Newt as he climbs the ladder out of the suitcase. It still holds the charm from when he was pregnant, making it almost twice its usual diameter. He pulls himself up and out with Queenie's help, then takes a moment to catch his breath. Little Perseus is wrapped up in a sling on his front; he unties it and takes the newborn out to hold him instead.

"You ready, honey?" asks Queenie. He nods.

"Ready."

Slowly, they walk together out of the bedroom to the main room. There they find Jacob and Tina waiting, perched on the sofa with a cup of tea each. They stand up when Newt and Queenie enter the room. Tina goes right in for a hug.

"Congratulations, Newt." he smiles shyly. Tina steps back to admire the little bundle in his arms. "Does he have a name yet?"

"Perseus James. You can hold him if you like."

Tina reacts as though she's been offered a very large insect. "No, I'm...I'm alright. Thanks." she retrieves her tea and goes to sit in the armchair instead.

"I'll hold 'im." Jacob chimes in. Newt joins him on the sofa and passes the baby to him--after some instructions and more than a little fretting--and Jacob sits and gently bounces Perseus in his arms.

"Hey, little fella, remember me?" he smiles his lopsided smile down at the baby. "I'm surprised you got him away from Dougal long enough to bring him up here," he adds to Newt.

"It did require some bargaining. My demiguise took a liking to Perseus," Newt explains to the other two, "I can barely separate them long enough to feed him." 

"Just wait till Perseus is older. He'll be pulling the nundu's tail and trying to ride the graphorns as soon as he can walk." Tina grins. Newt laughs nervously. His expression is equal parts amusement and horror.

"I'd rather not think about that just yet."

Queenie stands up from the armchair. "Well, in the meantime, we've put together a few presents for you."

Newt blushes as only a redhead can. "Queenie, you don't have to--" he begins, but she fixes him with a look that stops him in his tracks. He settles into the sofa instead.

Queenie clicks out of the room, leaving the other three in an awkward pause. Tina sips her tea. Jacob hums a mindless little tune to Perseus, who grunts and makes baby noises to himself. Newt ties and unties his borrowed bathrobe over what remains of his belly, which is just big enough to still be in the way. Outside the windows, a light spring drizzle is falling.

"Here we are," says Queenie, sweeping back into the room. In her arms she holds two neatly-wrapped packages, and there's a folded something in her pocket. She sets the packages on the coffee table. "One's from me an' Jacob; the other one's from Tina."

Newt leans forward achily and picks up one of the packages. "This is very sweet, but you needn't have bothered, Queenie, really."

Tina shushes him. "You're our friend. We wanted to do something nice for you."

"But I don't--"

"You're welcome."

"...Thank you."

The package is smallish, soft and wrapped in butcher paper. He opens it slowly and carefully and unfolds the contents. It's a pair of plain white onesies, each with a pattern of roses embroidered around the neckline. A pair of tiny booties tumbles out of the package as well.

"I hope they'll fit him," says Tina, "I had no idea what size to get."

"They're perfect. Thank you, Tina." Newt picks up the booties; they fit in the palm of his hand, they're so small. He pockets them.

Next up is a box. It isn't wrapped, but instead tied with a glossy red ribbon. He unties it; almost immediately, the lid opens of its own accord. A little face with button eyes peeks out.

"A friend of mine makes these by hand," Queenie explains, "it's charmed. It'll help comfort him if he cries at night."

The box opens further, and out climbs a little toy cat. Lopsided ears, button eyes, embroidered whiskers and a little smiling mouth. It looks up at Newt and extends a fabric-scrap paw which he politely shakes, grinning like a kid the whole time.

"Hello there. Aren't you lovely?" he breathes. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Queenie grinning.

"Knew you'd like that," says Jacob, also smiling.

"It's a very sophisticated charm. I've never seen anything like it." the toy scales up to his shoulder by way of the bathrobe's hem and looks around. "The baby? Jacob has him," he explains to it. "Here--may I?"

Newt takes Perseus back from Jacob and tucks him into the crook of his arm. "Here he is. This is Perseus." the newborn is awake (for now); he squints up at his parent with the air of a grumpy old man. The toy waves a paw in greeting.

While Newt is otherwise occupied, Queenie takes the last gift out of her pocket. She ponders it. She looks at her sister, then at her husband; they both nod in agreement. She stands up.

"Newt, honey?"

Newt looks up. "Hm?"

"There's one more. This one's...sort of from all of us." her smile is more gentle now. A little tentative. She holds out the gift.

"A newspaper? Now you've gone too far," Newt jokes as he takes it from her.

"Open it, silly."

Newt does as he's told, setting Perseus in his lap to use both hands. The paper falls open...and Newt's smile disappears. He stares at the headline, then at the picture. The color drains from his face; he covers his mouth with one hand, then uncovers it.

"Oh my god." his voice is small and shaky. "When did you...this is from four days ago. Why didn't--?"

"You had other things on your mind. I wanted to wait 'till you'd recovered a little." Queenie explains.

Newt swallows hard. "Oh my god..." he rubs his eyes with one hand and draws a shuddering breath. "Oh my god."

"Oh no. Oh honey, I'm sorry, don't cry." Queenie perches on the arm of the sofa and puts her hand on Newt's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd be happy...!"

"I am." Newt continues to scrub at his eyes. "I  _am_ , it's just...I thought--"

"I know. It's okay." she rubs his shoulder gently. "It's a lot to deal with, especially now. We shouldn't have surprised you with it."

"But he's  _alive_." Newt turns a watery smile on the photo of Graves, which has noticed Queenie and is now winking at her. "I can't believe--where is he? Does it say?" he starts flipping through the paper.

"Newt." Tina's voice this time. He looks up from the paper. "Queenie and Jacob and I have been talking; I can pull some strings at MACUSA, and we'll save some money for travel. We're gonna help you find him."

For once, Newt is speechless. He looks back down at Graves' photo, then at Perseus dozing in his lap. And thinks to himself that right now, he must be the luckiest man on earth.

 

oOo

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the story, please leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you!


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